Waiting
by ugahill
Summary: Just what IS Ginny thinking in the few moments before Harry comes in and sweeps her off her feet? A small GinnyHarry fanfic that explores the other side of the romantic developments in HalfBlood Prince.


Waiting…

_Though the majority of Harry Potter fandom had their romantic wishes fulfilled with "Half-Blood Prince", I must confess I was one of the minority that had their hopes dashed by the eventuality of Harry/Ginny. Not because of the Draco/Ginny of which I've written (they were a ship I knew would never really have a chance) but for the Harry/Hermione which I now know will never be—and for which I never wrote a fanfic, in preparation for this exact outcome. I'm a bigger fan of canon than fanon, and as such, didn't want to risk placing such beloved characters into situations that set up for disappointment. _

_But I have never been a hater, especially of romance. And though I watched my ship sink with "Half-Blood Prince", one of my favorite moments at the same time was the incredibly romantic embrace sixteen-year-old Harry gave Ginny. Almost immediately, I began wondering what Ginny was thinking when Harry grabbed her and kissed her—what she had been doing before that set her to look "blazing" (as Harry describes her) and what, inevitably, finally compels him to kiss her?_

_Here is my interpretation. :)  
_

"WEASLEY IS OUR KING!"

Ron laughed as the Gryffindors tossed him in the air one more time, the air alight with what had now officially become the Gryffindor Quidditch team's theme song. Hermione, who'd had her head buried in a thick, old book from the library, looked up at his wild grin, and beamed broadly.

"And Ginny!" squealed Parvati Patil, glancing over the crowd for Ginny's bright red head. "She's a Weasley too! Weasley is our Queen!"

The group gestured towards her, but she waved them away, giggling. As excited as she was that Gryffindor had won yet again, she was more focused on the portrait hole, waiting, hoping to see it swing open.

It seemed unfair to be celebrating while Harry was suffering detention with Professor Snape.

She sighed. _Harry…_

Ginny didn't know why her thoughts had strayed to Harry yet again. Other than the fact he'd be disappearing with Professor Dumbledore off and on, this year hadn't really been any different from all the others.

Except, perhaps, for those strange, intense (and most likely disapproving) stares she'd caught from him a few times…mostly when Ron was around, chastising her about hanging out with Dean Thomas, her boyfriend.

Well, ex-boyfriend.

Dean was in a far corner, downing one butterbeer after another alongside Seamus Finnegan. They'd spent the past hour laughing heartily, though Dean would glance in her direction on occasion. She knew he would have loved to talk to her about the outcome of the match, but was too stubborn to admit it.

_Fool…all he has to do is apologize…_

At least, she thought that was all that he had to do.

She'd had a fantastic time with Dean this year, from their secret 'practice' sessions for Quidditch to their midnight walks along the lake, beyond the reach of Professors or Prefects. Those had been easy to manage, because everyone, especially certain Gryffindor Prefects, were so concerned about the central threats You-Know-Who was laying on the wizarding world—namely, towards Harry—that they had little time to police a couple of students who snuck out from time to time.

But for as much as she enjoyed spending time with Dean, the walks weren't like she imagined they would be—they weren't like the ones her Mum described when she talked about _her_ old school days, when she and Ginny's Dad had snuck out under the nose of the old Keeper of the Keys, Ogg. For some reason, those had sounded far more interesting and romantic. With Dean, Ginny had had fun, but their midnight strolls hadn't left her breathless, or wanting more.

Not that there had been a lack of things to talk on—there was Quidditch, of course, and the goings on in Gryffindor. Dean had quite a bit of info on what Harry and Ron did at night, and Ginny was always interested in that. And Dean loved to hear more about what Ron was like when he was young. In fact, Dean loved hearing anything and everything about the wizarding world. Ginny enjoyed sharing things with him, and as she was just as curious about the muggle world, Dean also provided a wonderful resource—though, of course, most of what he described she'd already learned about from Harry or Hermione.

It made for endless hours of conversation, nonetheless. But the heart of what Ginny wanted to talk about—the fight against You-Know-Who—was something to which Dean really couldn't contribute. His family, being in the muggle world, had little to do with the wizarding world, though of course Dean was well aware You-Know-Who was now attacking the muggles. But as his family was not involved, neither was Dean, if he could help it. Unlike Hermione, who cared as much for the Weasleys and Harry as if they were her own family, Dean had no reason to get involved until someone attacked him directly.

So Ginny listened to his talk of West Ham's footballers (and how they just didn't compare to Manchester United's Quidditch team) and of how everything in the wizarding world was just so different from the muggle world (the ability to apparate outshone any 'aery-o-plane', whatever that was). She enjoyed the hand-holding, and the quiet kissing in corners (or not so quiet, whenever that knit Ron had stumbled upon her) and the ability to wake up knowing someone was waiting for her when she got to the common room. But, even in the moments when it was just she and Dean, alone, it hadn't been completely fulfilling.

He was much better than Michael Corner, however—_much_ better—so Ginny was a bit perplexed as to why she felt it _hadn't_ been more romantic. They'd been going together nearly a year. What had been missing? Why hadn't she been broken up when she and Dean had split apart?

Indeed, she hadn't really. The fact that he seemed so little concerned with being with her had annoyed her more than anything. She'd been teetering on confronting him about it for weeks—but that funny little bit of pulling away from her as they'd entered the portrait hole a few days ago had been the final straw. She'd told him they needed to take a break, and though he seemed slightly down, he'd not objected.

So here she was, watching him across the room and staring at the Portrait hole, waiting for Harry to come in, so that they could _really_ celebrate.

_Harry…_

She felt a pang of guilt as she glanced at Dean, his handsome face aglow, laughing with Seamus. She should be trying to find a way to work things out with him, yet here she was, unable to get Harry off her mind.

_Fifteen years old, yet I'm back to being ten again…_

The thought of her behavior towards him during her first year still caused her ears to twinge. She'd been so foolish, and Harry had been so patient, and kind, though a bit awkward. Hermione said he'd felt embarrassed, because he couldn't return her feelings.

But at twelve, what could one expect of boys?

Then came her second year. She'd thought, at thirteen, perhaps she'd have a chance…

But that had been the year of Cho Chang, and she knew everything she'd hoped for would never come to be.

She'd spoken with Hermione again about it, and Hermione had told her to be patient. _Harry's a very special person—he'll realize the right and wrong of it in the end. You just have to wait…_

Third year, then fourth year…with Harry as Champion, everyone was interested in him.

And then his fifth year. Cho Chang had finally liked him back—she'd heard of nothing else from her friends in the Ravenclaw dormitories, from those awful rumours of he and Cho alone in the Room of Requirement, after a DA meeting, to the news they were heading to Madame Puddifoot's tea shop on Valentine's Day. Ginny had just decided it wasn't worth it.

To make matters worse, that was the year Hermione had suddenly become withdrawn, and odd. She wouldn't talk to Ginny about Harry anymore. Someone Ginny had learned to confide in—someone who was open about Harry, with whom Ginny could talk—didn't want to talk about Harry anymore. Ginny had never thought Hermione might like him—but it was quite obvious Harry had changed, and Hermione was uncomfortable talking about it. Ginny herself had gotten a taste of it, his snappish and prattish behavior, and she'd not been pleased either. It had helped to subdue any lingering feelings she'd had.

_He was so different from the way he was before—shy, and quiet, and just a bit helpless…_

But after Sirius had died, Ginny had noticed yet another, more subtle change in Harry. He would never been the sweet little boy she'd first met on that platform, the year before she came to Hogwarts—the demur, innocent little hero who'd lost his way—but his general congeniality, the part of him that was just 'Harry', had returned, and he was as open, kind and good as ever.

But there was a shadow over him, too. A sense of inevitability. He knew what he would have to do, just as everyone else now knew what he had to do, and rather than fight it, he'd accepted it as a normal part of his life, a fate that he would not let interfere with the few moments of peace he could secure within the safe walls of Hogwarts.

"Ginny…"

The common room was still abuzz, the celebrations really just getting underway. Ginny looked over, to where Neville Longbottom was standing, his face painted maroon and gold, a piece of fabric with a haphazard lion stitched across it hanging from his shoulder. "Aren't you going to come over? We're going to sing again."

"Sorry…sorry Neville. Of course I'll join in. I'm just…"

She glanced at the nearby portrait hole again.

"He'll be along soon," said Neville.

"What?"

"Harry! That's who you're waiting for, right? We're all waiting for him to come, we don't even know if he knows yet. I'm sure he'll be delighted. You did a great job as Seeker—but then, you always did last year too. Harry won't hold anything against you, your being able to catch the Snitch like he can."

"Almost like he can," said Ginny softly. "Nobody can catch the Snitch like Harry can."

"He'll be disappointed he couldn't be there, I'm sure," said Neville. "But Harry's never been one to hold anything against anyone—except Draco Malfoy, of course—so I'm sure he'll be just as glad to celebrate as anyone else."

"Of course he will. Harry would never hold it against us that we won. He's a Gryffindor, and a true captain—he'll just be glad we won."

"Right. So come on, don't stand in the corner like a wallflower."

"I…"

The portrait hole remained closed.

"Come on. It won't do him any good staring at the picture as if you can make him appear."

"Alright."

She tossed another look towards the corner where Dean and Seamus were patting one another on the shoulders, still talking about the match. Dean glanced her way once more. Ginny shrugged her shoulders, and moved to the center to where her brother was standing, telling his version of the game.

"And he came up behind you…"

"Right! He came up right behind me, and I knew he was going for number one, so I moved a bit over, twisted my broom around—I bet I was up-down for at least a few seconds—and banged the end of it with my tail. Honestly, I don't know how, I should have fallen completely off…"

Hermione hadn't moved from her corner, just sat, staring at Ron, her chin in her hand. She was smiling broadly as he told his stories. Lavender Brown was also staring, her face alight as she tried push near him—though somehow Ron kept maneuvering the group around to just keep her out.

Ginny kneeled down next to Hermione. "He's really proud of himself, isn't he?"

Hermione smiled, turning slightly pink. "Yes, but I suppose he deserves little moments like these, doesn't he?"

"I guess."

Hermione glanced at the portrait hole, her brows knitting slightly. "I wonder where Harry is. Certainly Professor Snape wouldn't have kept him this long."

Ginny felt a slight flush to her cheeks as Hermione stared earnestly in the distance.

_She likes Ron, she's just best friends with Harry, naturally she'd want him to come into the room to celebrate with us…_

She realized with a start that she'd been acting almost like she was jealous.

_Why on earth would I think like that? I haven't liked Harry for ages!_

Ginny rose, swirling the untouched butterbeer in her hands. The truth was, when she was dating Michael Corner, and even when she was dating Dean, Harry was never far from her mind. She'd always worried about him—ever since she was eleven, and he'd swooped down into the Chamber of Secrets with sword in hand to rescue her. She'd never forget his face—just twelve years old, his black fringe sticking to his forehead, plastered with wet and grime, as he held out a hand to her. Even when his arm was bleeding, and he was growing faint from the poison of the Basilisk, he was only concerned for her.

There had been times—moments—throughout the years, where something akin to that horrible schoolgirl crush had stirred. His face, glowing after he and Hermione had freed Sirius. The knot that formed in her throat she found out he'd asked Cho Chang—and been refused—to the Yule Ball. The grin he'd given her after Madame Pince had chased them out of the library for sporting chocolate Easter Eggs. The surprised, yet sheepish smile he'd shown after she reminded him, following one of his tantrums, that he wasn't the only one who knew exactly what it was like to have You-Know-Who in your head.

The sad look in his eyes at her house that summer, as he thought about Sirius and everything else he would have to face.

And this year—his expression that first time Ron had caught she and Dean snogging in the hall. Harry had been with him, and he'd simply stared at them, his green eyes wide through his glasses, his scar standing out amidst his wild fringe. There had been a shadow on his face then—a heat in his stare—something that had made Ginny shiver from head to toe.

Shame had spread through her beneath the piercing gaze of those green eyes. Shame she'd been caught—shame she'd been seen kissing Dean in front of him. She doubted she'd have taunted Ron quite as much if she hadn't felt so badly for being caught by Harry as well.

"Ginny?"

Ginny turned, staring down. Hermione was gazing up at her earnestly. "Are you alright?"

She nodded, grinning widely. "Of course. I'm just…thinking about the match."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

"Am I sure I was thinking about the match?"

"Are you sure you're alright."

"I'm fine." Ginny swirled around her cup once more, refusing to look up, her face slightly flushed. "Do you think…do you think Harry will regret missing the Quidditch match? I feel a bit bad, you know, celebrating something he couldn't be a part of right in front of him."

"Not so much. Quidditch doesn't seem to be important to Harry this year."

"What?"

Hermione looked at Ginny with a beady eye. "I know I don't know that much about Quidditch, Ginny, and that I don't care as much about it as you three—but I know Harry fairly well, and despite what you or he or anyone else might think, I can promise you that Harry isn't as concerned with Quidditch this year. He has other things on his mind."

Ginny frowned, feeling slightly stung. Hermione's was right, of course—she knew Harry better than almost anyone, save perhaps Ron. Her behavior was completely normal, and nothing to be jealous over.

_Just very good friends…_

"So you think he doesn't care at all? He's always talking about how he likes the normal Hogwarts things."

"I think he wishes he could care very much. But I think there are more important things he has to attend to. Things with Professor Dumbledore, and Lord Voldemort, and…so many things."

Ginny stared at Hermione's face. Even though she was still smiling, watching Ron in the distance, a shadow had passed across her face.

"Why do things have to be so hard for Harry?"

Hermione gave her a half-smile. "Because he's Harry, of course. The famous 'Boy-Who-Lived.' What happened to him wasn't his choice, exactly, but he is the kind of the person who would take on the role it placed him in, because that's just who he is."

"But he…he's so young! He doesn't know half of what a grown wizard knows, and the majority of them are terrified of You-Know-Who!"

"Lord Voldemort," corrected Hermione with her irritating calmness. "Yes, they are, but Harry is different. He has much more courage than an average wizard. You know that. It has been difficult for him to accept—look at his behavior last year. But the battle in the Ministry of Magic changed all that, and I think _he_ has finally accepted what he must do.

"But that also means giving up on things that a normal sevent—er, sixteen-year-old would be interested in or find amusing. Harry's no time for games now. He's got to learn how to fight Lord Voldemort, and survive, and that doesn't leave much room for Quidditch, or anything else. Not even studies." Hermione raised her book, a copy of an ancient ancestry. "And not just for him. I haven't looked at a textbook in about three weeks."

"So you…and Ron, too…you're all preparing to…"

Hermione shrugged. "I don't know what we're preparing for, exactly. I just know that Harry's going to have to do something very dangerous, and very important. And when that time comes, neither Ron nor I will be able to leave his side. Though it's Harry's fate, we've been with him since this thing began, and we shall be there when it ends."

Ginny frowned. "I want to be there, too," she said softly, her heart beating swiftly in her chest.

Hermione smiled at her. "Perhaps you can. Or perhaps you should just be _here_, to give him the support of 'Hogwarts things' that he's missing."

Ginny stared once more at the empty portrait hole. "Maybe I will."

"I think he'd like that very much," said Hermione.

A second round of crackers had gone off in the common room, along with a few tricks Ginny recognized from Fred and George's shop.

_They'll be pleased. They're the only ones who could make people smile in these times._

She leaned against the armchair as Hermione went back to her book, watching Lavender Brown, who was still trying to push into towards the group surrounding Ron, with slightly narrowed eyes.

Harry's face flashed through Ginny's mind—the easy, simple grin he liked to give when he was trying to be reassuring.

_It's time someone reassured him. I'm going to make sure he feels like he was there the entire time, as though he was on the field with the team. I'm going to make sure he feels completely normal, even if it's only for a little while._

A pleasurable tingle ran up Ginny's spine, and shook her head for a moment, trying to control the wild beating of her heart.

_I'm just his friend…just his good, good friend, who wants to make sure he leads a normal life…_

_A normal life…whatever that may be…_

The portrait hole swung open with a decided crack, and the entire common room turned towards it. Harry stepped from the shadows, his eyes widening at the sight of the Gryffindors shouting in celebration. A few people reached forward and grabbed him, pulling him into the middle of the gathering. He looked slightly weary, though a half-grin spread across his face at their enthusiasm.

Ron was shouting something at him about the match, and how they'd won, but Harry didn't appear to be paying attention. His eyes were searching the room, sparkling with a kind of raw energy, something that had been tamped down by the detention with Professor Snape, and had now, in the shadow of the celebration, had suddenly been released.

Ginny set down her drink, and pushed roughly through the crowd, towards him. Everyone else was standing around, a few people raising their drinks, others patting him on the back, but no one had made any great move to congratulate him, to crown him Captain of a winning team.

_Completely normal…_

Ginny shoved past Parvati and Lavender and a few other girls. Romilda Vane was in the far window, twirling a bit of her hair around her finger, and smiling at him.

Ginny felt her face flush.

Romilda's attitude made her more determined than ever. She broke into a run, barreling towards him.

Harry was still scanning the room.

He turned, catching sight of her just as she came upon him, arms outstretched, her red hair bouncing behind her. She caught him in a fierce hug, as strong as she could muster, ignoring the expression on his face. She didn't care if he stood there like a statue, completely surprised by this show of affection—she was going to prove to him he wasn't alone, and show the rest of the entire Gryffindor common room how they should greet a Captain.

His arms caught her, pulling her away from him, but only slightly. And suddenly he was bending down, drawing her upwards, tilting her head to his, kissing her.

Something exploded inside Ginny. A wave of heat flushed through her, making her slightly dizzy. The buzz of the common room died away, and it was just she and Harry, standing there, locked together, a moment she'd been waiting for from the first time she'd seen him standing on that platform six years ago.

And in just a few moments, those feelings she'd suppressed, the years of broken-heartedness, the fervent attraction that had been replaced by an easy, steady friendship—came flooding back in one beat of his heart, pressed against hers.

He released her after what seemed like minutes, hours, days.

The sounds of the common room hadn't returned; it took Ginny a few moments to realize that they were still there, fifty or more faces—all of whom were frozen in a stunned silence. The entire group had seen what had just happened, and no one, from Hermione to Romilda to Dean, knew what to say, though she could only imagine what they were thinking.

But what they truly looked like, she didn't know, and she didn't care. She only had eyes for Harry—Harry, who was searching her face worriedly, as though wondering whether what he'd just done was wrong.

She smiled softly at him, and squeezed his hand, which had, somehow, found her own.

He smiled back, the corners of his bright green eyes crinkling. He glanced up, and she knew he was searching for Ron, the only person in the world whom he could possibly be looking for. A deepening of his smile as he gazed over her shoulder showed that, unlike as with Dean, her brother was completely accepting. She had a sneaking suspicion he'd wanted this from day one.

Harry leaned down to her. She'd known he was handsome, in his own way, but never had he looked more so than when he pulled close to her, yanking on her hand and guiding her through the portrait hole.

She realized, rather ironically, that she'd not just been waiting for him—not just for today. She'd been waiting—five years she'd been waiting—for _this_.

She squeezed his hand. She wasn't waiting anymore.


End file.
